


Killing Strangers

by MiryelENG (Miryel)



Category: Spies In Disguise (2019)
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, They are so cute, Walance, lance is in late, lance is so gentle with walter, lance x walter, lolter, spies in disguise - Freeform, they are the most sweet ship i have ever had, walter is so fragile, walter isn't coming back from that place, walter x lance, what if was walter the kidnapped one?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miryel/pseuds/MiryelENG
Summary: There is a cold white sky outside that window. He stares at it and blinds it, but does not look away. The soul and the mind are elsewhere, somewhere else entirely. He is not sitting on that high stool, with his bare feet resting on the rod under the kitchen table, but on an uncomfortable, hard, weathered chair. His hands are not wrapped around that cup of hot tea, but tied behind his back by rough ropes, with a knot so tight it blocks his circulation. His eyes are not beyond the buildings, staring at the sky, but they look at the back of a cruel man who has taken him away from a life of failure, and who wants to destroy him.
Relationships: Walter Beckett/Lance Sterling
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Killing Strangers

[English isn't my primary language, so if you find some mistakes please tell me, so would correct and learn something ♥ Ty]

"We pack demolition We can't pack emotion  
Dynamite, we just might So blow us a kiss, blow us a kiss  
Blow us a kiss and we'll blow you to pieces."

There is a cold white sky outside that window. He stares at it and blinds it, but does not look away. The soul and the mind are elsewhere, somewhere else entirely. He is not sitting on that high stool, with his bare feet resting on the rod under the kitchen table, but on an uncomfortable, hard, weathered chair. His hands are not wrapped around that cup of hot tea, but tied behind his back by rough ropes, with a knot so tight it blocks his circulation. His eyes are not beyond the buildings, staring at the sky, but they look at the back of a cruel man who has taken him away from a life of failure, and who wants to destroy him.

His fingers tremble; he taps his against the porcelain that contains that drink, which he no longer wants to drink. He is elsewhere and there he will remain, until he experiences again, in the most intense way possible, something he would just like to forget.

But Walter, memory, has always had it damn good, especially for those tragic events that he would never want to relive, and instead they come back, to haunt him and the only thing he should do is cling to a hope, if only this. there was ...

He looks for it, never finds it and slips away, down into the abyss, while trying in every way to find a foothold.

And he is there again, in that room, staring at monitors that herald the end of everything, the absolute chaos, pain and despair of poor human beings, unaware of everything. Unaware that, locked up in that mountain, there is a man bent on destroying everything, while a young disaster has no power to stop him.

And Lance... Lance is far away; maybe he's dead. Maybe he's not even looking for him anymore, and Walter dies inside every time he thinks about it, as he represses tears of pure humiliation in the depths of his soul, heart and brain.

"In life there are those who crush and those who are crushed, isn't it?" Killian is still with his back turned; he checks his monitors, makes sure his plan is perfect, that there are no hitches, and now that Lance is out of the way, he probably will be. "I hit things, and you?" He asks, and turns around.

Walter doesn't want to answer, and in any case he doesn't have the strength to do so. He jerks his hands in a pathetic attempt to free himself, but even if he succeeds, what does he ever want to do? He is unable to defend himself, to attack. He is not capable and does not want to do it. The world continues to show him that violence is the only defense one has and that all the bullshit he believes in - all the useless contraptions he has created are just silly tales he tells himself to trust others. A trust that he should have let die with his mother, the only person in the world who has ever truly loved him. The only person who believed in him, always. And that anyway, in the end, he left him alone.

"Are you still waiting for Sterling to come and rescue you?" Killian asks again, and he looks away, hurt. He lives on hope, but Lance isn't there yet, ready to save him. Lance hasn't gotten to stop that man and his intentions yet. Lance is elsewhere, doing the right thing: letting that punishment be imposed on him for believing too much in the goodness of people, because he deserves it. He deserves to pay for his belief in humanity which has never served him anything but feeling alone. The only one in the world still capable of dreaming, of hoping for a better world, which is not possible.

He feels stupid. Damn stupid. A total idiot. A failure from every accident point of view.

And he died. He's already dead. He knows a little more when Killian points a gun to his head, presses it, and laughs at his cruelty, not knowing how to hold it back. Without _wanting to_ hold back. He is under _pressure_ , and cannot free himself. He has neither the strength nor the desire. Not anymore.

“He won't come, you know. I can see it in your eyes. And then I know. He would never waste his precious time on a kid unable to stay out of trouble. It was enough for you to see him, when I assumed his form, to follow me immediately. You're just a hindrance. "

 _Laceration._ In the heart, in the brain, in the veins, in the muscles. He feels a pain that is not physical, but internal, in the flesh.

He should have known, that this wasn't Lance. His _inscrutable_ gaze was proof of this, but he just thought he was worried, suspended in the void with him. _Disillusioned_ . But it wasn't him, and he wonders if that feeling he feels is not just a damned consequence of his loneliness, that he simply clung to another human being who showed him some love, the one he has been looking for for some time. .

He doesn't know him, Lance. It is obvious that he does not even know it, if he cannot recognize the real one, from a dull copy.

“Do you know why Sterling acts with force - with violence? Because inside every human being, _every one of them_ , harbors a latent need to harm. Control is the only thing that keeps us where we are, and each of us finds an outlet in our daily lives, something to hold onto. For many it is work, for others it is a good book, for still others it is study. For Sterling it's killing. Because… well, ”Killian freezes, points the gun harder at his temple and, after peering at him closely, the shadow of a feral smile crosses his face. It scares him. He is still silent and does not want to know. He is silent and would like to tell him to stop. He is silent and does not have the courage to isolate his mind so as not to know what scares him the most: that Lance is like the others, he has never changed and that, what the man is about to tell him, it is a truth that Walter, inside of himself, he already knows. “Why do we kill strangers so as not to kill those we love, right? All those people who, in a moment of madness, stab their family ... God, what tragedies! " He pretends a dramatic tone, then clicks his tongue in a sound that terrifies him. “Then they repent and get it over with. _I killed my loved ones, how am I going to go on?_ And then there are those who kill for work, and they do it in such a disinterested way that it's almost scary, don't you think? They kill and even manage to fall asleep at night without the burden of a single sense of guilt. _It's the job, they asked me, they pay me to do it_ . Instead ... you have a bad conscience in the same way. "

«Stop it ...» he manages to murmur, while a tear falls from his face and he barely notices it. He looks away, he wants to tell him to pull the trigger and stop there. Because there is too much pain in that speech. There is too much harm in that idea that Killian has of Lance and the thing that most disorients him is the fact that, all of this, in part reflects reality.

 _“You_ _see, out there, I have to fight fire with fire. Because if I try to fight the fire with glitter, I could burn my face. "_ Lance told him that time on the yacht. While he tried in vain to let him understand his point of view; that we are all the same, all human beings, that no one deserves to die at the hands of another person, because in the end the epilogue is the same for everyone. Because his mother, for having believed too much in that concept of _fire with fire_ , got burned anyway. And it is no longer with him.

Neither did Lance.

He narrows his eyes, he just wants to scream and squirm, but he can't and he doesn't have the right. He slipped into something bigger than him, even though he is so small. So helpless. So weak.

“Either kill or get killed. And I'm going to kill you, kid, ”says Killian and the noise of the shot awakens him.

Walter is back in that kitchen, staring at a sky that is too white to be called enchanting. It terrifies him, because it is what he thinks death is: white, blinding, _nothingness._

That shot never really happened, because then, to save him, Lance arrived. It stunned Killian, who then fled, and the two of them remained there, alone, picking up the pieces. Those left on the ground by the awareness of both.

Because while one began to believe that violence was not the right weapon, the other began to understand that instead, without it, the world is not going anywhere. They looked at each other for such a long time, without saying anything, that in the end there was only a hug to try to heal things, without really succeeding. Because Lance picked up the pieces and tried to put them back together, begging a tacit forgiveness from Walter, who just nodded and buried his head in his shoulder.

Then he stayed there, in that cave in the mountain, with the red lights that infected his eyes. And he stayed there as well when they left, and they worked things out in his own way, without anyone losing their life. Without anyone being deprived of it by someone else.

Walter, from that cave, never returned.

"Wal?" Lance calls him, as he peeps into the kitchen with only a pair of boxers on and the sleepy eyes of someone who has just got up and still hasn't left behind the dreams he had clung to so as not to sink.

Walter turns, and it's like waking up from a nightmare. He stares at him and does nothing but study his expression, in this moment so pure and usable, that for a moment they make him look like just a man in love with the other half missing; but who has just found it.

He tries a smile, then raises the cup and his hands are still shaking.

"I'm here," _or I pretend to be there._

"Are you okay?" Lance asks and approaches. He leans over him and ruffles his hair.

Walter raises his head and crosses his eyes more closely and, biting his lip, gives in to reality and clings to love.

"No," he just says, and when Lance clicks his tongue in concern and then kisses his lips, he wraps his arms around his neck and lets himself be rocked. They sink into a black sea, _always the same one_ that Walter remembers around him since he was alone.

But now he is not alone and, at times, it is worth drowning if you have someone nearby ready to reach out to him and save him every time.

Maybe he came back from that cave, or maybe he didn't. But he knows that, for another thousand times, someone will always bring him back.

_"We're killin 'strangers We're killin' strangers  
We're killin 'strangers so we don't kill the ones that we love."_

**Marylin Manson - Killing Strangers**

**The End**


End file.
